Vinny could feel the adrenalin pumping through his body. He couldn’t believe his luck. If he worked six shifts he’d bring home twenty-four quid a week. An absolute bloody fortune! ‘Thanks ever so much. I won’t let you down, I promise.’

Of course Vinny had no idea what he was actually signing up for at that point. No idea at all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

‘Is everything OK, Mrs Huntingdon-Brown? If so, I’ll be off now.’

‘Did you polish all the mirrors like I asked you to?’ snapped the posh bitch who Queenie loathed so very much.

‘Yes, Mrs Huntingdon-Brown.’

Pearl Huntingdon-Brown got off her fat arse to double-check for herself. ‘This long one still has a smear on it, Queenie. Look,’ she pointed. ‘Do it again, please.’

Cursing under her breath, Queenie did as she was told. She had been working for the Huntingdon-Browns for almost two years now. Basil, the husband, was a jeweller, owned his own shop in Hatton Garden and was rarely at home. The daughter Clarissa was fifteen, an up-her-own-arse prat, just like her unbearable mother.

Queenie worked for the family three days a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The journey to and from Finsbury Park was a cowson, but Queenie could not do without the five pound a week she earned. That paid towards the rent, the food, the coal and the gas. There was never any money left over at the end of the week. Any money the boys gave her, Queenie bought the kids clothes with or saved for presents and Christmas.

‘I’ll be off then, Mrs Huntingdon-Brown. Would you like to check the mirror again before I go?’ There had been no smear on it in the first place.

‘No. That’s OK. See you on Monday, bright and early. Your wages are on the kitchen counter.’

Queenie picked up her dosh, then left the huge Victorian property. She slammed the front door. ‘Stuck-up bitch.’

Albie huffed, puffed, grunted, groaned, then rolled off Fishy Fanny. His latest bit on the side had an unfortunate nickname, but it wasn’t what it seemed. Her name was actually Fanny and she sold fresh fish down by the docks.

An unselfish man, Albie put his middle finger inside Fanny’s fanny and kept it there until she also came.

‘Cheers, Albie. You better make a move soon in case Stan comes home early.’

Albie jumped out of Fanny’s bed and quickly got dressed. Unlike his affair with Cilla, this was just a once a week booty call. It was the same for Fanny. She adored her elderly husband who ran their fish stall with her. Stan was sixty-two now, twenty years older than her and, according to Fanny, he couldn’t raise a gallop any more.

Fanny got up, put on her dressing gown and kissed Albie on the cheek. ‘Same time next week?’

Albie nodded. Fanny was buxom, plump, but no looker. Thanks to Queenie, this is what his life had come to though. He and Queenie had not had sex since she’d got pregnant with Brenda. He wasn’t even allowed to sleep in her bed any more. He’d been relegated to the sofa. ‘You take care, Fanny. See ya next Friday, girl.’